


Darkest Dungeon: The Sinner's Cathedral

by Lewdsmokesoldier



Category: Darkest Dungeon (Video Game)
Genre: Corruption, Dom/sub, Dream Sex, F/F, F/M, Futanari, Gangbang, M/M, Multi, Other, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sex Pollen, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-08 11:09:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20834477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lewdsmokesoldier/pseuds/Lewdsmokesoldier
Summary: Ruin has come to our family. A yawning, endless whirlpool of defeat, sacrifice, and difficult choices lies between you and salvation. In the midst of this proliferating havoc, a new locale has made itself manifest, rising from the earth near the borders of our estate like an old wound that refuses to heal. Only the desperate, the hopeless, the insane or the impossibly brave would dare venture inside. What lies within the twisting, labyrinthine corridors of the Sinner’s Cathedral?





	Darkest Dungeon: The Sinner's Cathedral

**Author's Note:**

> Done in collaboration with [InerrantErotica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InerrantErotica/pseuds/InerrantErotica), so if it gets reposted on his profile, don't worry, he's not stealing it!
> 
> This is technically a [poll one-shot](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18747037/chapters/44470414), but because it has elements that some might not want to see I'm making it its own story for now.

_ Four numbered our party, venturing into lands newly found within our estate, a basilica of well-turned, oddly round spires that echoed forth a din that vaguely recalled tittering. _

_ One was a trapper of mankind, seeking the thrill of the hunt, wealth and the gratification of adrenaline, while presenting precious little for scrutiny. _

_ Another locked herself within layer upon layer of protection, enfolding her body in voluminous, oscillating robes, her mind within dogma and repetition, and her feelings within repressive self-hatred. _

_ The third found fascination in putrefaction and dissection, equal parts enthralled by mending wounds as she was by watching poison eat away at them, turning her focus on experimentation to its limits...though nowhere near approaching my own disregard for petty morality. _

_ And the last reached far, far too deep into the abyss, bringing back if not their sanity, then the raw power that comes with ineffable knowledge, holding on to what remained of their self with pretensions of culture and education, as if their upbringing could counteract what they knew. _

_ Four they were, and four they left and as four they returned. But what happened in that twisting, heaving, alluringly reflecting chancel? _

_ Hah. _

_ Until they choose to share, only they shall be privy to their secrets. _

* * *

“I told you we should have brought more torches.” Florence griped, fiddling with her potion belt, one hand on her knife. The short, sharp blade was just as useful for slicing down attackers who got too close as it was for dissecting their corpses to satisfy her curiosity. Her black robes and beaked mask would have disguised her body language better if she hadn’t been jittering and darting her head back in shock at every stray sound. And there were plenty in this place: distant moans, faint little giggles, and a steady _ drip-drip-drip _ that reminded her of a leaky roof...except they were on the first floor. 

“Worry not, dear. My powers grow in darkness, and snuff light besides. More torches would have meant less food...and we will need it all, I have little doubt of that.” Khwarizmi quipped, managing a smile in spite of the smooth-polished skull in his hand, capped with a trio of lit purple candles. His turban enfolded the top of his head, the white cloth reflecting the light of his candles and standing out all the more against his tan-colored skin. Like Florence, he was wrapped in frail cloth and adorned with pockets and pouches, and he too wielded a blade, this one curved and sheathed against his thigh. Where Florence narrowed her eyes and gasped at any possibility of intrusion, Khwarizmi straightened his back and stood proud. He had already seen worse.

“And even if this heretic’s black arts are made stronger in the shadows, my own faith will light the way brighter than any stick wrapped in oiled rag.” Jeanne couldn’t keep the smugness out of her voice, shouldering her mace and making as if to open her verse book before letting it stay shut, as if to mock her less-pious companions with the possibility of yet another sermon. Her dusky skin was half-shadowed by her gray hood, the rest of her body was clad in heavy plate and beige cloth embroidery, hidden from the world by design with her face—the only spot of exposed skin.

“Quiet.” Cyrus grunted, his voice muffled from the leather aventail affixed across his mouth, covering his neck and lower face. Of the four adventurers, he was the most stoic...and the least talkative. His entire body was encased in blue leather and scale armor, with only two holes for his eyes that remained perpetually in darkness. How he could breathe, they had no idea: even Philip, back at the Hamlet, had holes in his visor for him to take in air. Cyrus must have been unbearably hot beneath all those layers, too, but he never complained. 

“I will not be silenced, brute.” Jeanne grumbled but acquiesced. However holy she was, she wouldn’t pretend that her senses were sharper than an experienced bounty hunter’s. 

“Noise, ahead. Different. Three, maybe four. Probably human.”

“Probably?” Florence let out a sound between a squawk and a cough, though the latter seemed more likely: she had a birdlike _ mask _, not a birdlike head. 

“Surely you are not surprised that what it means to be ‘human’ might not be what it once was, after everything we have seen.” Khwarizmi tapped his forehead. “Flesh is malleable, and some have taken it to the extreme.”

“True, very true. I would much like to see _ how _ that was done, if we could get our hands on a body, or even a tissue sample, I could…” Florence tapped her mask’s beak, suddenly intrigued.

“Please discuss your blasphemous violations of the sacrosanct body until _ after _ we are out of danger, if you don’t mind.” Jeanne cut them off, deadpan and dripping with condescension.

Florence crossed her arms but silenced her retort when the Occultist raised his free hand and winked in her direction. As a fellow scholar of learning, he understood the frustration of dealing with the less curious of society. There’d be a time for her to indulge her fascination with corpses later. Perhaps with a woman who spent her time rooting around them.

Florence smiled beneath her mask. Yes, Selina’s grave robbing was well-established...perhaps asking for her help in retrieving samples would be the perfect opportunity to get to know the darling, gorgeous young woman. She might even get the chance to show off what she had beneath her robes, if things went that far…

Jeanne frowned. Those two uppity, paternalistic intellectuals couldn’t keep themselves from lording their alleged superiority over her whenever they had the chance. She tried not to let thoughts of showing them the error of their ways get in the way of her concentration: she needed them to get out of her alive, to continue her good work, to remind herself that the thoughts that lingered in her could be suppressed. The Light would forgive her a silent prayer in this hour of discord, and so she sent one up without remorse.

_ Grant me the strength to stay shackled, Most Holy Light. Amen. _

She raised her mace, producing a glowing sphere at the tip to light their way. The shadows around them were cast back and warmth and reassurance flooded her heart. It also brought the many objects in their surrounding into view once again, just as odd as before. In the place of dismembered corpses, dusty skulls, and incomprehensible runes—the usual decorations in the ruins of the Estate’s castle—this keep was adorned with an entirely different theme.

The paintings were in eerily pristine condition, depicting orgiastic scenes at the height of pleasure, awash with sweat and scattered seed as the characters fornicated however they could. The chandeliers hanging from the depicted naked forms entangled in gold thread, candles placed on their nethers and breasts, and the torches on the wall all took the form of phalluses endowed with large, heavy testicles. Pillars were carved in the shape of naked women grinding against thick, hard poles, the light outlining the detail on their painstakingly carved forms: their stone nipples and smooth gravel hips, and even the rocky rise of their pubic hair. 

These images were resplendent throughout the parts of the cathedral that they had, thus far, explored without interruption. 

Jeanne tried not to retch. Florence tried not to look too interested. Khwarizmi tried not to appear too excited. And Cyrus didn’t bother disguising his boredom with all this nonsense.

And it was just as well, too, for the sounds around the corner ceased. The light cast their shadows across the floor, extending past the pillar at the end, visible to whoever was in that room.

They expected shrieks, or the rapid clanging of chains and shuffling of limbs as whatever monstrosity came hurtling towards them. Even if Cyrus had predicted humans, they knew by now that things were rarely that simple.

But nothing happened. They crept forward, hands on their weapons, Cyrus in the front: he wasn’t as durable as Philip, with his iron faith, but he was still the toughest man they had with them, just as comfortable taking blows to his armor as he was slicing down foes. Jeanne stood by his side, verse book open, mace clutched, ready to strike with prayer or weapon in equal measure, her curative chants on her lips. Khwarizmi stood behind her, muttering words under his breath that none of them could hope to recognize while the candles on his carried skull burned a deeper violet, his forbidden power ready to curse their foes or reconstruct the wounded flesh of his allies. Florence brought up the rear, medicinal herbs and noxious flasks in hand, hoping that she kept track of them lest she pass the toxins to an ally and toss the curatives at their foes.

Another step. Another. The tension was thick, oppressive, all the more present from the distracting elegance all around them. 

They rounded the corner, and found...nothing. No cultists, no monsters, no trace of the presence that had been there before. They didn’t relax, knowing that they’d already made their presence known enough that whoever had been here was well aware that there were intruders.

A giggle sounded out, a soft, chimelike sound that started soft and grew and grew. Deeper, huskier guffaws were mixed in with it, and soon the air was alive with laughter that was too good-natured to be true.

Quick as a flash, a pink fog rocketed through the corridor towards them, overtaking and enveloping them before they could react. It was fast, so fast that they breathed it in before they could confirm its toxicity, in spite of Florence’s desperate shouts for them to “Stop! Wait! We do not know…”

But instead of burning lungs, a profound softness settled over the party. Eyes drooped, limbs loosened, and legs wobbled, and one by one they fell to the floor. First the occultist, always of frail constitution, was dozing, and then the doctor, and then the holy woman and the bounty hunter were asleep in tandem. 

* * *

_ As the unwary rest, hungry eyes watch. Sleeping minds cannot perceive the hands that fell upon them, pulling and probing and investigating the trespassers intruding upon their profane, licentious rites. _

_ Ah, to be a young man again, enjoying the pleasures of ill-gotten gains. Once, such intrigues would have commanded my attention, but now I am beyond them. Their allure holds no value. But our four subjects most certainly are still prone to indulging in these acts... _

* * *

When Florence awoke, she was alone. 

As the reality of her solitude came to her, she stood up, searching around for her companions, eyes wild and unfocused as she scanned the room. Panic came upon her, the fear in her chest budding into terror as terrible possibilities wracked her mind. Had she been abandoned? Had the mist separated her from her companions? She’d never been alone on an expedition before…

She considered calling out, and then stopped herself. Screaming to alert her companions might bring them to her...or attract other, less desirable attention. But what to do? It looked like she’d been moved to a chamber, well-lit and circular, the walls lined with implements that she couldn’t yet make out the purpose of.

“Mistress.”

The sound drew her attention behind her, towards the wall, and she did a double take at what awaited her. 

A man and a woman were knelt before her, heads bowed low, speaking towards the ground without looking up. She’d seen more than a few naked individuals, many under less-than-pleasant circumstances, but _ these _ were two utterly pristine examples of the human form. The man was lined with muscle and well-groomed, betraying not a scrap of poor maintenance or excess fat as far as she could see. The woman was delicately and softly curved, an enticing, classically beautiful lady who wouldn’t seem out of place consorting with nobility at some courtly affair, richly adorned with jewels and silks from faraway, expropriated lands. For her tastes, two better people couldn’t have been before her.

“We’ve been expecting you.” Spoke the woman, following up on her companion. “How will you have us today?”

“Wha...I don’t…” Florence gaped and sputtered, reaching for her knife and toxins, afraid that this was some other trick of this cursed estate. When she looked, she found she had none of them: she’d been effectively disarmed. The vulnerability accelerated her crippling dread, and she nearly sobbed at the unfairness of it all. What was this place, to put two such delectable forms before her only at the height of her discomfort? “Who _ are _ you people?”

“What you want, of course.” The man spoke in a soothing tone, as if she were a frightened child...which wasn’t far off, truth be told. “You’ve chafed under restrictions, fought back against restraint and blind caution…”

“...And so we are the ones to address that.” His companion continued. “Come now: did you not bristle at the idea of _ not _ having someone under your power? Do you not wish to experience such control?”

“We _ want _ it.”

“_ You _ need it.”

“I…” Florence whimpered, but even in the depths of her anxiety she saw the truth in their words. Whether it was dissections, experimentations, or social interaction, few things upset her more than being told ‘no’. Perhaps that had fed into her fear of mortal danger, her tepid acceptance of expeditions with the promise of healing and poisoning with minimal limitations. 

Perhaps...perhaps this place was showing her not what she _ wanted _ to see, but what she _ needed _ to see. That seed of doubt took root in her mind, blossoming into certainty. What could the harm be in a little indulgence?

Her eyes scanned the room, searching, and when she saw the tool she’d had in mind, she grinned.

* * *

Khwarizmi immediately knew when he was awake that he was in a vision.

He’d experienced enough of them at the hands of his “benefactor”, alternating between torments and insight, and often the two were indistinguishable. Such was the nature of forbidden otherworldly knowledge seized from the depths of the world, the price nearly past comprehension. Whatever the cost might turn out to be, it was worth paying...especially if the bargain could delay or mitigate or avert what the creature claimed it was capable of. 

The other major giveaway was that his skull catalyst was not on his person. Khwarizmi’s life was connected to the bleached bone, dependent upon the candles that both ticked away his remaining time and urged him to find new ways to extend it. If it wasn’t with him, it was likely snuffed out, and he would be dead. So the fact that he did not appear to be meant that this was not real.

“What have you for me this time, creature?” He called out. It seemed to appreciate boldness, even if it did not fear it. But only silence greeted him this time.

“Your tormenter has no power here.”

Khwarizmi turned to face the voices and was presented with the images of three figures. A man and two women stood before him, one of the ladies was in possession of both a member and the accompanying testicles, and was mouthwateringly voluptuous. The man was no hulk, soft-hipped and delicate, achingly beautiful while the woman stood taller than the other two, built like Ching, that screaming, furious warrior who’d fought by his side more than once.

He shook his head and wagged his fingers. “I will not be fooled, creature. We had a contract, yes, but you lie as easily as men breathe in all other respects."

“Your usurpation is admirable, and not without hope.” The man spoke, sighing. “But perhaps, if not assurance, then action will satisfy. You know, as others might not, that this is transitory.”

“Yes. I am worldly in these matters. What is your point?”

“What would be the harm,” began the cocked woman, “in indulging us? In indulging _ yourself _? You already know that, were this to be a vision of the beast, you couldn’t escape it in your current state. So if it is, then accept its course...and if it is not, than accept our proposal.”

“And what proposal might that be?” Khwarizmi relaxed, just the slightest bit. They were telling the truth: in dreams, he was unarmed, and though traumatic, torment here would not destroy his sleeping body. So long as he was careful with what he agreed with, he could navigate this transaction.

“You have suppressed yourself, veiled in education, distracted by that which writhes within you. And beyond that, you seek a peace not of this world, one that will elude you so long as you deny yourself distractions from your duty.” The cockless woman said. “What is your life, even in pursuit of duty, if you do not _ live _ it?”

“I am listening. I have yet to hear an offer.”

The three figures chuckled, and the one with a shaft swinging between her legs replied. “You are a shrewd bargainer. Very well. Our proposal is thus:"

“Enjoy our attentions, whether this be a vision of the other half of your pact or, as we claim, something entirely unaffiliated.” The man continued.

“So what say you?”

Khwarizmi stroked his beard, doing everything he could to appear deep in thought. He’d already made up his mind, but acquiescing too quickly would harm his bargaining position. And he had one more pitfall to cross.

“I do not yet agree to this, unless you bind yourselves to your attentions being only enjoyable and beneficial for my person, or whatever aspect of it is projected here in the vault of my mind.”

They all nodded, murmuring assent, and he snapped his fingers.

“The bargain is struck! Now, what did you have in mind?”

* * *

Jeanne awoke, and felt immediately ill at ease. 

She scrambled for her verse book, clenching her teeth when she couldn’t find it. Until she found it, she’d have to abstain from eating. If the book was truly gone, then the abbot would have words for her. But she’d been clutching it, and her mace, to her breast when she’d drifted off: where could it have gone?

“Hey, look. She’s finally awake.”

Jeanne’s head snapped up. She hadn’t heard them approach, but a group of men now fanned out in front of her. Adonises all, sculpted and strong and built like warriors. Exactly the kind of men that had tempted her on that fateful, horrible day that she…

No. She could not, _ would _ not revisit that travesty, that failure that she still punished herself for. She would resist the memory until…

...Until she noticed that every single one of the men before her was naked. She took in a deep breath through her nostrils and looked down at the floor, muttering prayers under her breath, trying to disguise the warmth blossoming in her cheeks. 

_ "The worthy shall stand before their maker in purity, free of blemish." _

It was merely the shock at their brazenness, at their utter lack of regard for the propriety of her position. That was all. She was _ not _ flustered: she was _ not _ distracted by their bulging muscles and hairy forms and thick, magnificent manho—

“I am praying,” she forced out through clenched teeth. “I would expect men of piety to respect a nun’s limitations. And if you are not faithful, then respect a woman’s boundaries.”

One of them snickered and stepped forward, his bare foot coming into view in the corner of her eye as she pressed her hands together and prayed more vicariously, eyes clenched in concentration, as if not looking would make the men not real. 

_ "The faithful find no fear in the face of danger." _ She intoned.

“You see, it’s quite clear that you’re trying a little _ too _ hard at all this.” Another chuckled.

“You’re trying to hide yourself, aren’t you?” Now the voices were behind her, the men surrounding her, encircling her. Jeanne did not respond.

_ "Sweet grace shall grant you succour in your hour of need, as it always has should you remain true to your faith." _

“Trying to hide what you _ really _ are, deep down.”

“Well, we’re here to bring you out of your shell.”

“To reveal who you could be.”

“To break the boundaries that you impose on yourself.”

“To break _ you _.”

They closed in on her, large hands outstretched. 

_ "Evil holds itself to the material form, shackles from the divine. And so you shall be shielded." _

Jeanne’s prayers were left unanswered, and she could not stop herself from opening her eyes, beholding all those exposed bodies, and screaming as the men fell upon her.

* * *

Cyrus awoke to someone shaking him.

He reached for his axe, prepared to swing upward at whoever it was—if it was a companion, they would have known better than to wake him up with touch, so it _ had _ to be a threat—but it wasn’t there. Nor was his chain. He was about to punch at the figure instead with his bare hands when his vision cleared and his breath caught in his throat.

The loveliest, fairest woman he’d ever seen was staring down at him, brow furrowed in concern, skin flushed with the effort of shaking him. Her eyes were bright and calm, lips plush and skin free of blemishes. When she saw his eyes open through his helmet, she stopped moving him to speak.

“Oh! You’re all right! Oh, I was so worried!”

Cyrus grunted in confusion. He didn’t know who this woman was, but she was utterly enchanting, riveting his attention in ways that no one else had. She was clad in a long, flowing gown that hugged her hips and chest tightly, her nipples peeking through the thin material. He looked away out of politeness, exhibiting more restraint than he’d expected. His stoicism usually hadn’t overtaken his libido...but now he couldn’t help but feel that it would be disrespectful to ogle her, even if she was barely clothed.

“I’ve been waiting for you for so long! My hero! I was imprisoned in this cathedral, but my captors fled at your approach, leaving behind some vapor, perhaps to cover their escape. I freed myself and found you, and dragged you into this room to wake you!”

Her voice rose with concern, and Cyrus took in his surroundings. He was lying on a luxurious, magnificently fluffed and quilted bed with a canopy and overhanging silks. His helmet was resting against a pillow, so soft that he could feel it through the material.

“Oh, please! I just _ knew _ that someone like you would come! What they put me through, why...oh, it was horrible!”

She sobbed and buried her head into the crook of his shoulder, and Cyrus gaped beneath his helmet. He could handle lust just fine, but this? Affection? He was out of his depth.

But she was still crying, and if he wanted to get up, he’d have to comfort her. So instead of pushing her aside, he rose and rubbed her neck, gloved fingers brushing the shoulder of her dress down and to the side, exposing even more of her skin near her clavicle.

She wiped her nose and looked up at him, beaming affection and gratitude.

“Oh, _ thank _ you! Please, is there _ anything _ I can do for you, my savior? What’s your name?”

“...Cyrus.” His voice was something above a growl for the first time in weeks...not counting yelling in the middle of a fight. “It’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” She pouted, rubbing his bicep through his armor, one hand coaxing across his covered chest. “Surely you can think of _ something _ a grateful damsel such as myself could give such a big, handsome warrior…?”

She smiled, and Cyrus saw how she was shuffling down her dress through a rolling motion of her shoulder. Confusion gripped him for the smallest moment, replaced by the certainty that defined him so well.

“...Got one idea. Looks like you’re on board.”

* * *

Florence cracked her whip. The tip was blunted and soft, not hard enough to cause any serious damage, but it would sting. Of course, the pain was secondary, because what mattered more was _ control _.

“Yes, Mistress!”

Her pets cried out, arching their backs and writhing against the floor as she walked back and forth, her weapon snapping and pulled back fast enough to leave a whirr in its wake. Sometimes, she stopped before she actually hit either the man or the woman before her, letting the working end of the weapon strike the air just above their backs or shoulders or rears or legs, the tension in their muscles at the miss nearly as strong as if they’d been struck. Sometimes, Florence let the blows come into contact with them, relishing how their skin reddened and tensed against her whipping, the vibrations rolling through the leather and up into her arm leaving her shuddering and biting her lip beneath her cowl. 

They’d been right. Having two people under her power was..._ intoxicating _. She could do just about anything she wanted, and they’d eat it all up and ask for more. She walked across them, using their backs as carpeting instead of pacing around them, stepping down hard on their shoulders and nodding in satisfaction at the bridge they made for her feet. 

“Good.” Florence’s voice was husky, enticed and excited at trying out new things, at going further and further with her two willing subjects. It took no small effort to restrain herself from moving on right away as she stepped off of the woman’s back, digging her heel into the skin and feeling the lady’s breath reverberate up her leg, straight to her crotch. The sensation left Florence’s core feeling tight and warm, her cunt dampening against her underclothes as much from the vibrations and the sight of their naked bodies as from the power they were subjecting themselves to. Her mind was on pleasure, and her submissive servants were more than happy to provide.

Her gaze turned to another implement on the wall, a leather-wrapped and studded rod on a harness, and she chuckled as she unbuckled her coat. Her soft, sun-deprived skin was unusually pale in the light of the room and she leaned closer towards gauntness than muscles or curves, but her toys wouldn’t care. They’d worship her modest breasts and slim thighs and silky-smooth shaved mound if she ordered them too, and she’d never get enough of their attentions.

“I think you two are going to very, _ very _ much enjoy what I’ve got in store for you…” Florence teased, hanging up the whip as she shrugged off her coat. Her mask came off too, revealing hollow cheeks, crow’s feet by the outer corners of her eyes and thin lips. She knew she wasn’t a real beauty, but that didn’t matter to her two toys. Hopefully Selina, the robber of tombs that so intrigue Florence, would be of the same mind.

“Yes, yes! Please, mistress, _ anything! _” Her two partners shouted in unison, remaining prone on the ground while she reached for the harness. Her fingers closed around the hilt, encircling the inflexible material, and she smiled at the lubrication she felt on its shaft: whoever had prepared this planned well for future trysts. All the better for her purposes.

“Glad to hear it,” Florence said as she stepped into the holes in the harness, tightening the straps and positioning the rod against her clitoris, a nub of material the same texture as the rod sliding alongside her slit and dipping inside as she secured the getup in place. Yes, this would do nicely.

Who would she fuck first? She preferred women, but didn’t object to men being present...and she’d never speared a man on the end of a sex toy before. It wasn’t like he would or could protest his treatment. But that lass was looking every bit as delectable as Selina...so perhaps indulging her fantasy would be the better course to start off with.

Or...

“Up.” she commanded, kicking their ankles lightly until they rose, heads still bowed. Their arousal was obvious, their bodies dotted with sweat and their nipples hardened as they breathed with some effort. The man’s cock jutted out, having grown to its full, impressive length, and the woman’s slit was wet and dripping arousal down her thigh.

“You,” she pointed at the man, then to the floor. “Get on your back. Yes, I just ordered you to rise. No, you can’t point out the redundancy.”

“Right away, mistress.” He obeyed without hesitation, resting with his cock sticking up proudly. 

“You,” she indicated the other woman, “sit on his dick.”

“Cunt or ass, mistress?” She batted her eyes and bit her lip, making a show of tossing her attention between the man’s cock and the strap-on Florence wielded. Clever girl.

“Ass. I want to spread your pussy wide before anything else.”

Her only answer was a nod. With nary a sound, the other woman squatted above the man’s dick, rear hole kissing his cockhead for a second before she sank down and leaned back, taking him up her bum without a grunt or squeal of protest. Besides some clenched teeth and a whistle of air through her nostrils, the woman gave no indication that she had any difficulty with the thick dick in her back hole: she must have been rather used to this. 

“Lean back on him, and spread your legs.” 

She complied, her partner securing a grip on her waist to give her leverage while she held her legs out and to the side. Every motion made her tits bounce just the slightest bit, enough to draw Florence’s attention to the jiggling, rippling skin, enticing her to draw closer and partake. So she did, positioning the sex toy at the outer folds of the woman’s pussy...and slamming forward without warning.

The sudden motion forced a gasp out of her pet, a groan from the man beneath the both of them, and a triumphant chuckle from Florence. The motion into that warm, slick cunt left the inside of her harness rubbing against her own pussy and clit, promising dividends for continued use. She could work with this. Moving her hips back, she withdrew as much of the strap-on as she could bear and slammed back in, watching the other woman’s larger breasts bounce and shudder, the motion forcing her to slide up and down on her male counterpart’s cock.

“Don’t scream.”

She screamed, of course. What else was she supposed to do with a thick strap-on in her cunt and an equally meaty dick in her ass? Lie there and quietly take it? 

Perhaps, but for this moment, Florence didn’t begrudge her her vocalization. It was worth it if it meant that Florence would get to enjoy their tits pressing together, sliding and sweaty as she leaned forward to take a nip at the shoulder of the woman between her and the man on the floor. She set a furious, merciless bar for her partners to meet, slamming in and out without regard for the comfort of her female partner, the pleasure of her male counterpart secondary to her own enjoyment. Each time Florence thrust in hard enough for her bony ass to jiggle in her strap-on harness, the little insert on the inside lining slid into her cunt, tickling her clit so strongly that it was a real struggle not to let her knees buckle and collapse onto her pets in a heap.

If this is what having a cock felt like, then maybe she should perform some experiments in the interest of acquiring one. But then again, she _ did _ adore having a pussy, and wasn’t in the business of scaring off a potential partner with such an extreme modification...perhaps it’d be better to stay as she was. She’d decide after she fucked the minds out of her two submissive slaves.

Whenever Florence fucked downward, bottoming out her facsimile of a dick into the cunt wrapped around it, the ass on the other side tensed and gripped on the very fleshy cock buried in it, drawing weak little groans that wouldn’t have fit the burly figure they were coming from if he hadn’t so clearly established his submission to her control. He wasn’t fucking the woman, not really: the pace of Florence’s enjoyment of her was grinding and pulling an ass along his dick, a sort of second-hand sex that didn’t seem to dampen his enjoyment in the slighest. If anything, the fact that it was his mistress enabling him to feel this pressure and heat sliding along his cock intensified the pleasure.

Florence hadn’t enjoyed herself for some time, so when the speed of her pounding intensified and she felt her breath go hot and hard against the other woman’s throat, she didn’t bother restraining herself. She could cum as much as she wanted, and would force her pets to do the same until she was done. Still moving her hips in a flurry, hands now pulling and groping and kneading her toy’s chest, Florence’s thighs started and quivered and she snapped, the rubbing friction on her sensitive clit and the repeated inward shoving of the interior attachment on the strapon pushing her to a quiet, enraged and furiously rapid climax. Hot fluid gushed from her slit onto the leather of the harness, dripping down onto the legs and nutsack below her, but she didn’t stop moving, didn’t stop shoving and pounding and _ fucking _ the whole way, dragging the two figures below her like they were nothing. Which they were, of course.

The fuckmeat below her whined and gasped and shrieked and came all around that fake cock, asshole drawing out the spunk of the man in her ass until he was creampieing her rear with all the cum that Florence couldn’t provide. She hadn’t given them permission to cum, but she’d let it slide. Just this once.

Assuming, of course, that they repaid her patience by going again. Perhaps she’d masturbate while watching them fuck...

* * *

Khwarizmi fell backwards into the grip of the bedicked woman, feeling her breasts against the back of his head while she stroked his shoulders and undid his turban. The effeminate man stood before him, unwrapping his cloak, more suited to the study than combat or any sort of lewd activity, while the woman stroked his beard and hair, pecking his neck as he was stripped. 

Ordinarily, he would never willingly subject himself to such ministrations from beings he had never met and had no knowledge of. That wasn’t because he was the sort of man who preferred reading and studying to sex—though in truth he preferred such activities to intercourse, he would still enjoy offers and experiences as they arrived—but because he knew that allowing strangers access to his body was the route to terrible misfortune. He already shared his body and part of his mind with an offshoot of that which lurked below, that which claimed so certainly that it was the end-all and be-all that he grew all the more certain that it was lying. 

But now was neither the time nor the place. Perhaps it was conceited, but his awareness of his circumstances meant that he felt no fear at the possibility of being helpless before these visions. Khwarizmi relaxed, feeling the tension on his brow from his turban release as the cloth fell away and the weight on his body disappeared with his discarded robe. He kept himself fit, at least enough to lift books and keep up with the front-liners of the party, but he was no warrior.

In the eyes of his partners, though, he couldn’t have looked more perfect. The woman licked down from his ear to his jaw, the man cooed and ran his fingers down Khwarizmi’s chest, and the endowed woman behind him let her pleasure be known with a prodding between his buttocks.

Ah, so it was to be like that. Very well. He was a stranger to such experiences, and yet here, in the realm of dreams, he felt no concern about indulging them. Perhaps it would open a world to him in the waking plane that he had yet to consider. So instead of recoiling, he pressed backward harder, feeling her length growing more turgid between his ass, her balls heavy and throbbing against his skin.

“Have you ever had a vision so enjoyable, occultist?” The woman by his side murmured, biting the lobe of his ear. 

“I cannot say that I have, my dear.” Khwarizmi felt the thick, fat head of the woman's cock press into his ass. Ordinarily, he might have expected more preparation, a gentler lead-in to being buttfucked, but reality held little power here, and if he could benefit from fantasy, he would gorge himself on it.

“Then relax, esteemed teacher, and enjoy.” The man crooned, settling his cock against Khwarizmi’s hardening shaft, the two lengths rubbing and grinding together. Slick with precum, the skin pulling and tugging as the heads of their cocks frotted against each other, Khwarizmi let his barriers fall away as the woman penetrating him finally hit home. Her cock popped past his anal ring, slowly sinking into his asshole, and he shuddered, watching a drop of pearly fluid roll down his length onto the partner in front of him.

“I expect that he will,” grunted the one slowly spreading his ass around her shaft, “else this will quickly become the torment he so fears.” Her tits on the back of his head were comforting, but the size of her shaft was certainly taking time to adjust to. It didn’t hurt, not yet, but Khwarizmi was beset by the uncomfortable fullness and growing heat caused by a thick dick in his butt. She wasn’t even a third of the way in, and he already felt close to being overwhelmed...

“Perhaps I can help.” The woman who’d been kissing him stepped between him and his male partner, positioning her cunt above his tan cock and her own tight, firm little rear hole where his male partner could penetrate it. To keep them at the same level, the woman plugging Khwarizmi’s rear stood, still buried in him and lifting his body...which also brought his cockhead up to the folds of the woman in front of him, and then he was in her and being assaulted by heat both around and inside him, centered on his butt and crotch.

Khwarizmi groaned, and the woman wrapping his cock shuddered as the svelte man behind her slid into her ass. Now held up by two dicks, she lifted her legs to rest on the occultist’s hips, her feet extending to press against the sides of the endowed woman still penetrating him while her anal assailant gripped her waist and began to slide in.

Now, the dark sorcerer was truly sandwiched: a shaft in his ass, a woman’s pussy around his own length, and a male and one between at each end directing them both. When the sides of their tangle bottomed out, the two takers—one playing giver as well—reached towards each other to press their chests together. One flat, the other gifted with prodigious breasts, the contrast that much more striking for its starkness.

The thrusts of the bedicked woman set the pace, her powerful thighs and strong back giving her the leverage to core out Khwarizmi’s rear, forcing it to adjust to the encroaching shape of her dick as it was used as a tool for her to find her pleasure and intensify his. The momentum of her movement sent his own shaft plunging into the cunt of the woman in front of him, which left her to fall back and spear her own ass on the rod of the man fucking her butt.

When the man pushed back, the process repeated, a domino effect of dicks entering holes and holes being penetrated that left the woman plugged at both the front and back and Khwarizmi simultaneously being the fucker and the fucked. The ones at either end were pounding them fit to rub them raw, going neither slowly nor delicately in spite of the difficulty of training four people together. The ones in the middle were too busy kissing sloppily to protest, lips slipping and sliding against each other while their tongues tried to find purchase and failed. The force and fulfillment was more than enough satisfaction to undo any concerns they might have had about the roughness of their intercourse.

The ones plugging them didn’t keep up a consistent tempo, alternating entrances and exits and sometimes meeting together. Often, the man being half-in the woman’s ass meant that Khwarizmi was feeling the person behind him bottom out in his butt and pushing his cock as deep as it would go into the cunt around it. Just as frequently, the reverse was the case, where his cockhead was just barely inside the woman’s pussy lips and his ass felt glaringly empty of dick while the effeminate man on the other end enjoyed the woman’s buttcheeks pressing against his pelvis. And when they were lucky, they met in the middle, their bodies all coming together with a massive clapping sound that forced undignified sobs from everyone involved.

It didn’t take long for Khwarizmi to feel his will unraveling, the desire to cum into the pussy in front of him at the behest of both the grip it had on his dick and the cock punching his prostate proving to be too much. When the woman behind him leaned forward, pressing her tits into his shoulder, and furiously ground her hips to force her dick even _ deeper _ into his rear, he knew he’d found his limit. Nipping at the woman he was cumming inside, Khwarizmi found his peak, cream spurting out of his cock as the same salty, hot fluid filled his ass. The rapid bearing down on his shaft and the soft moans of the effeminate man fucking the woman’s ass indicated their own releases, and the four held each other close in a tight, warm quadruple embrace as gooey spunk, flooded holes, and throbbing wetness united them in one frozen moment of clarity.

When it faded, and they were left with exhaustion and soreness and falling limbs, Khwarizmi found the purchase to stumble towards the effeminate man, who was still on his hands and knees. His ass was still in the air, his rear hole puckered unsuspectingly as the occultist took up position behind him, feeling the eyes of the other two on him as they awaited their turn. 

* * *

Rough, indelicate hands reached out and pulled at Jeanne’s clothing, grabbing at her hood and cuffs and plate. She tried to resist, reaching out for a mace that wasn’t there, a prayer book that she couldn’t find, finally resolving to use her fists until fingers snatched her wrists and held her arms taut. She struggled and threw her weight back and forth, but all her martial training seemed to be of no avail: the crowd around her was as unyieldingly stiff as their growing erections. 

Shutting her eyes again made it hard to know where best to lash out, where to avoid reaching to steady herself, but Jeanne was getting increasingly certain that fighting wasn’t going to work. But surrender wasn’t in her nature: she’d keep battling until her body gave out and her mind broke, and even then her faith would carry her forward. She’d endured worse than these brutes could do to her.

“Lookit you,” one of them smirked, ”locking yourself up underneath all this.”

“Let’s see who’s really hiding behind this bulwark.” Another snarled. It was getting difficult to tell who was speaking, all their bodies and voices seeming to blend together into a chaotic din of grunts and abs and guffaws and dicks. She couldn’t feel any yet, but the sheer number of thick, throbbing cocks surrounding her meant that it was impossible to ignore the heat and weight of them all.

She wanted to utter a prayer, but the words failed her. Even her thoughts couldn’t form a verse, distracted as it was by her utter helplessness. When she jerked her shoulders, her hood came off of her head, ripping in the hold of the man pulling at the fabric and exposing her jet-black hair, tightly bound in a bun. Her right paulron loosened and came off with a _ clink _, and the plating covering her side began to come off in sheets, exposing the fabric lining beneath.

Jeanne snapped at the empty air, trying to catch a finger or cock in between her teeth but caught nothing, her efforts met with a round of dark chuckling as her assailants began pulling at her underclothes. Luminous threads were snapped and peeled and undone, forcing the metal armor above them to fall away as their structure collapsed and hot shame burned through Jeanne as the very last of her coverings were cast aside, lost in the confusion of eager men.

She shivered, feeling their eyes greedily take her in, goosebumps sprouting over her skin as she was left bare for them to ogle. Jeanne refused to so much as consider how she looked, blocking out the glimpses of herself she held in her memory from bathing and changing. 

They weren’t letting her.

“Well, well. Nice tits, certainly. Got a bit of weight to them, some heft, and I _ love _ the way they shine…” A pair of hands shot out and dug into her breasts before she could lash out, and Jeanne whimpered and shook, restrained by four other powerful hands while another set groped her, playing with her chest like it was a soft, squishy toy and not a part of her body. 

“Those lips, though. Just a bit lighter than the rest of that cute little face...how do you all think they’d feel wrapped around my cock…” Two fingers pinched and pulled at her lips, stretching the delicate skin and letting go to let it slap back against her teeth. 

“Good hips, looks like she could pop out a few brats pretty easily, once we fuck them into her…” Hands glided over her waist to her hips, rubbing and pressing down the thumbs into her skin.

“This ass, too. Great big one at that. Watch it shake!” A _ slap _ resounded and she couldn’t suppress a moan at the sharp, bright flash of pain and warmth echoing throughout her jiggling rear.

That left…

Wait. Where was it? Where was her chastity belt, the barrier between her and the impurities of the world? The guardian to her most holy womb, to the slit that would never know penetration? Why did her crotch feel so...bare? Where was her protection?

“And would you look at that. A darling, pretty little pussy! Never been used, never been shaved, but that won’t stop us, will it, lads?” 

“Not one bit!” They all shouted, and a deadly calm settled over them. Jeanne refused to open her eyes, refused to acknowledge what was happening, and when she felt hands spreading her legs apart she was too shocked to resist.

“Didn’t think so, boys. Here we go!” With that, weight was put to her cunt lips, and then shoved forward, and Jeanne felt a cock thrust into her cunt for the very first time.

The thickness of the shaft, the heat and pressure, the stimulation upon a tunnel that had gone unstimulated for so, so long...Jeanne didn’t know how to react as she was fed more and more cock up her snatch, the wide head rubbing and shoving its way deeper no matter how hard she tried to bear down and stop its progress. Her resistance wasn’t conscious, but it was noticeable, and the man now fucking her laughed.

“Tight as can be! Just how we like it! Keep it up, slut!”

She couldn’t scream, couldn’t shriek, couldn’t voice protest. Her mouth opened in an empty, soundless wail, her eyes still closed as if this all might be a bad dream. Unfortunately, her movement gave a man room to shove his salty, musky dick between her lips, her shock such that she neither bit down nor moved to spit it out. To the contrary, her writhing, struggling tongue merely intensified her partner’s pleasure.

Two more cocks were fitted into her hands, sliding in and out until she started to stroke. Jeanne didn’t know _ why _ she was moving with her assailants, but she was, and she couldn’t stop now. Not when they were all atop and around and _ in _ her, and she was in no position to act. Her faith would shield her, as it always had...but faith without action was meaningless.

They laid into her, their cocks plowing through the hollow of her hands and shoving into her mouth until her nose was squashed against the pelvis of the one fucking her face. She drooled and slobbered, trying to keep herself from spilling saliva everywhere as she was used, but her lips couldn’t help but widen whenever the one taking her virginity fully pushed into her, the head of his cock kissing her womb before withdrawing and grinding along her inner walls. It was a tangled, horrible mess of heat and thick, pulsing pumping, and the jabs from the men entering her and the ones waiting their time didn’t help.

“A mask of purity. You coulda had us fooled, you know.”

Jeanne’s thighs tensed and she tried not to cry out around the shaft plowing her cheeks, punching towards the back of her throat without mercy.

“So much time, hiding your desires.”

She couldn’t stop herself from jerking the dicks in her hands, feeling every vein and pulse of heat through her fingers, sending electricity zipping down her arm.

“But when confronted by cocks, what’s the first thing you do?”

Her pussy cried out for more of the dick being fed it, focused only on satiated the desires that had been neglected for so long, no matter what she’d done her whole life.

“Get fucked, of course. Because that’s all your good for, dear Vestal. Who knows how many will enjoy you, now that you’ve taken off your disguise? I’m sure you’ll _ love _ it.”

Jeanne _ hated _ how she was flushing and squirming at the degrading words coming at her from every angle, though some of it had to be the result of being bored in four ways. Had she already consigned herself to failure, she wondered, as the motions into a cunt that was never meant to know a cock sped up? As she stroked and jerked the cocks in her hands and the thrashing of her tongue on the shaft in her mouth faded into gentle suckling and soft, guiding hums? Was she going to give up everything to these men and their fat, gloriously warm manhoods?

...If she was asking that question, framing it in that way, then she had already lost. 

They picked up the pace, the balls of the one in her pussy slapping against her ass as she was held upright and she worked two cocks with her hands, furiously gulping down the one swabbing her throat. It wasn’t long before the pace was more than her strained mind could handle, the furious pounding a greater assault on her senses than any dungeon monster. 

One by one, the men enjoying her came, erupting inside and all over her, the rush of heat triggering some fault line she’d never even fathomed before. She writhed and squirmed, not to struggle out but to contain within herself the shattering release of heat and pleasure that she now understood to signal her quivering, oozing release. The ones she was pleasuring with her hands coated her tits and stomach with their white, hot spunk, the first load she’d ever felt, while the one in her mouth blasted his cream directly into her throat, pulling out to spill some more fluid onto her face and panting tongue. The one fucking her cunt buried himself deep, cock trembling and balls throbbing, and emptied his load right up to her womb.

“This is who you are.” He taunted as he pulled out, her slit leaking his thick load.

“This is what you’ve always been.” The one who’d ploughed her mouth sneered, slapping her across the face with his still hard dick, leaving her cheeks red and sticky before stepping away.

“This is what you’ll always be.” The ones she’d stroked to completion withdrew their dicks from her grip, strings of cum connecting the heads of their cocks to her fingers.

Jeanne opened her eyes when the men holding her released her. She looked up at the towering forms of her partners, at their enthralling shafts and the confident smirks. 

She knew herself. She knew who she was. She couldn’t bear to say it, but that didn’t change the truth.

Instead of fleeing, she bent over, spread her ass cheeks, and bit her lip while a new man pressed his cockhead to the too-tight star of her ass and another prodded her lips with his own fresh, untouched dick. It’d be a difficult fit. But she’d make it work, and she’d give him what he wanted. What _ everyone _ wanted.

She’d get what she wanted from all of them, because more than a Vestal, Jeanne knew that she was a slut. That was what she'd be, forever more.

* * *

“Yes, yes, _ yes! _”

Cyrus would have worried about the noise she was making, but he got the strangest feeling that they were well and truly alone. He didn’t even know this woman’s name, and he was already undoing her on his dick, pounding into her while she dragged her nails across his muscled, hairy back and wrapped her legs around his waist.

It hadn’t taken much to go from teasing to fucking: she’d rubbed and grinded and teased him as he undid buttons and straps, and once his pants were off she’d dived on his dick and sucked him down, carefully enclosing his dick in her mouth while looking up at him with that adorable, pleading, _ helpless _ gaze. She’d worked his shaft, kneading his balls and popping her lips off of his length every so often to let him know that, yes, she _ loved _ his dick, loved worshiping and adoring it and rewarding him for his valiant behavior by swallowing and licking and cuddling it. 

When she’d taken him as far down as she could go, her nose tickling his pubic hair, her lips planting kisses around the base of his shaft, Cyrus couldn’t stop himself from letting go. A hand on her cheek was her warning, and she pulled up and off to let him spill his seed on her tongue and in her cheeks, swallowing it down with a smile and nuzzling into his palm.

He’d never wanted to admit it, but Cyrus had sought _ this _ more than anything else. Someone who’d not only enjoy his cock, but also him for who he was: an enigma, yes, but still a person who craved contact no matter how much he pushed others away. A secret romantic was still a romantic, after all. And now he had his wish.

He would’ve thought it too good to be true if it didn’t feel so _ real _.

After blowing him, she’d pulled off the rest of his clothes, kissing and pawing at his chest and muscles and crooning that, yes, he was _ very _ impressive. Her hands on his jawline lifted his mask off, and for the first time since he’d arrived at the Hamlet, someone else saw his face. Saw the scars, the blemishes and burns and imperfections that marred his features.

And she embraced him anyway.

Now he was fucking her into the sheets, absolutely relishing how she gripped and clutched at him as he laid into her. In spite of his roughness, his intent wasn’t to use, to abuse or enjoy: rather, Cyrus meant to make this as enjoyable for her as it was for him. She seemed to need no assistance in that, but he still let a hand creep down to paw at her clit while he shoved into her. He still leaned forward to kiss her. He still gripped and pawed and groped her tits, flicking her nipples and mouthing the hollow of her shoulder when she whimpered and urged him on.

“Please, _ please _ ! Oh, please don’t stop…my love. _ ” _

Cyrus didn’t stop. How could he, buried balls-deep in a woman professing her love for him? The fact that he knew nothing about her slid from his thoughts like rain on a roof, ignored and unacknowledged. It seemed only fitting that someone he’d saved had rewarded him with not only sex, but devotion and love and servitude. Why _ wouldn’t _ he keep going?

Whoever she was, she was hot and slick and tight around his cock, egging him on with her moans and heaving tits and flushed cheeks, a mark of voiceless pleasure. She writhed and squirmed beneath him, moving with his body with all the force that she could bear. 

Throwing hooks and smashing skulls gave him staying power and stamina. More than any damsel that he rescued in a dungeon would have, at least. When she cried out and pushed back against him, rolling her hips to work his shaft as her undulating pussy squeezed at his dick, Cyrus didn’t feel a pressing need to cum. She was leaving his length sopping with her orgasmic nectar, but he was far from ready to blow.

It was a simple matter to lift her legs and push them by her head while she was left sputtering from her orgasm, her knees hovering above the pillow while the new angle gave him space to bore deeper into her with his fat dick, grinding and rubbing along her inner walls so fiercely that she had no choice but to endure it, no matter how sensitive she was after enjoying the cocktail of pleasures that his dick could provide.

He’d keep working her until his own pleasure came, but Cyrus was in no rush. He’d make this last. If he was going to properly romance this girl, it wouldn’t do to blow his load in her at the earliest opportunity. 

* * *

Four they were, trapped in illusion. And their trials—and pleasures—were far from over 

The one occupied with medicine and toxins stood to the side, taunting and demeaning her fuckslaves as they enjoyed each other, the man pounding the woman’s cunt with his fingers interlocked behind her head, holding her legs up in his shoulder, until he pulled out on his mistresses’s command to cum all over her face. Him receiving her strap-on up his own rear end while the woman he’d just banged up the bum enjoyed his tongue’s affections was but one of many new positions this plague doctor subjected her pawns to.

The one mired in the dark arts enjoyed a clarity lacking in his companions, well aware of the grand masquerade at play, and no less happy for his knowledge of it. After ploughing his catamite into an even more exhausted mess, leaking cum from his ass and sprawled onto the floor, the occultist shared the woman with his third partner, occupying the lady’s mouth while his shedicked mirror plunged her massive cock into her ass. He’d fuck the dick-endowed woman up her own backside before he was done.

The one devoted to a higher cause found herself sinking to a lower low than she ever could have dreamed. Her spitroast had ended in a gooey filling, quickly followed by her getting stuffed in all three holes at once while jerking two dicks as one more was shoved between her weighty tits. The men all around her took no heed to her own desires, seeking only to use her as a sleeve to pleasure their cocks, and she did not leave them wanting. Passed around, used and abused and degraded and discarded, she was left a coated, worthless mess, lying in a pool of spunk while even more men stroked their dicks to cover her dark skin in even more layers of white than she was already inundated with. The vestal couldn’t get enough of it all, and no sooner was one round done that she begged for another.

The one driven by greed and a good fight made love to his would-be-bride. It was not a gentle loving, rough and hard and fast and deep, but there was a sensitivity and assurance to his actions that went beyond lust. He held her leg high against his shoulder, took her on her hands and knees, slammed into her cunt from the side, and pressed her into the blankets with her legs around his waist. She enjoyed so many climaxes around his cock that they lost count, and he made sure that every time he creamed her cunt, her pleasure was secured before his. The bounty hunter was considerate like that...so much so that, after flooding his partner’s womb with cum for the final time, after trying out more positions than he’d ever known existed, he resolved to care for the child that had to have been growing in his new wife’s belly.

* * *

_ Imagine their shock, then, when the compulsion faded and the four souls found their spirits roused along with wakefulness. Like before, they were gathered in a circle where they fell, as if they hadn’t moved in the slightest or passed what must have been hours or days in lurid congress. The shock upon their features...what I would have given to see it for my own, the baffled gapes and confuddled, languid dawning of comprehension! Even the occultist, aware as he was of the dungeon’s grand machinations upon his psyche, was confounded by his awakening. _

_ What had happened was certainly real, of course. The mechanisms of such transposition are beyond even my research, but I suspect that they had little regret in their undertaking following such encroachment upon a very different sort of adventure. And whatever the case, their derring-do permitted little wasted time, especially if their task was to be completed. But even as they continued on, resolving to never share their innermost thoughts, the dark peerings into the recesses of their mind, the true impact of their journey would linger far after they left. _

_ The Sinner’s Cathedral laid even the most guarded desires bare for supplication and gorging indulgence. The dungeon’s revelations of their true character would carry consequences far beyond its licentious walls. _

_ But that is a tale for another time. Suffice to say, our subjects returned home safe...but, perhaps, changed more subtly than they yet knew. _

**Author's Note:**

> I'm also on [twitter](https://twitter.com/Lewdsmoke) and [ Hentai Foundry](http://www.hentai-foundry.com/user/Lewdsmokesoldier/profile), so gimme a follow there if you liked this!


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